Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden (2 page)

Well. Here we go.

Looking for a tome

No really one knows,

In a library all alone.

Lestel waddled up to a squat wooden chair. He
grabbed a massive clump of parchment from its seat and dumped it
out onto the floor. He found himself confronted by a small mountain
range of books on top of a meek little desk. Rummaging through the
drawers, he managed to find a few stubby candles. The torch had
begun to dull to a somber blue by the time he lit the small bits of
wax and placed them on top of a neighboring stack of books. Shaking
off the weariness from his limbs with a muffled grunt, he picked up
the nearest book.
The Love Life and Mating Rituals of the
Alainian Tree Slug
. And then the next,
How to Farm to Charm:
A Guide to Winning the Fair Maiden’s Hand through Agriculture.
And, just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse,
Mingling
Etiquette with the Lower Class and Less Fortunate
.

Each one he went through seemed to get worse
and worse, each just as useless and mundane as the next. Not a
single one dealt with anything but trivial facts about nothing in
particular.
What a waste of good ink
. Lestel’s own family at
least had entertaining books in their modest library. Though most
were written by his father and grandfather, they were numerous
times more valuable than what he had so far found in the palace
library.

Then, without warning, there appeared a
shining star in the night,
A Brief History of the Alain.
He
tore open the pages and devoured the words inside, searching for
any clues his eyes could find.

The Alain are a sophisticated people with a
rich and glorious past. However, due to a tragic fire in the once
great library’s archives, most of our recorded historical
information of the era before the Split has been lost to the ages.
Though, there are many wonderful and amazing things that have
happened since then, for example, the introduction of the
irrigation system to the city’s farming district—

—
No! There has to be more!

He became frantic, flipping through the pages
only to find nothing but farming and the names of a handful of
previous rulers. One page bit at him, leaving a long, red stinging
slit in his thumb. It would be the first of many.

Lestel threw the wretched book down and
snatched another—and another, and more. This continued for hours.
Time melted together into a blur of days and nights. Candle stub
after candle stub, he worked his way from book to book, and found
nothing to satisfy his raging curiosity.

All these foolish minds be damned!

I’m going to end up with a bandaged hand.

Days and nights bled together and there he
sat, fuming at the scholars of the past, pulling his dark hair from
the roots in frustration. That is, until late on the third night,
when he came to the very last straw.

It was a small thin book the color of
weather-worn skin. There was no title, but inside instead of the
usual typeset used in all the others, everything was handwritten in
a rushed, black-inked script. He had found what appeared to be a
diary of some sort. Whoever had written it had done so with haste.
The writing slanted every which way and blobs of ink dotted the
pages.

He eagerly flipped to the beginning. There
was no date, or even a name that he could see, but the strange
tickle that he was holding something very old and very important
danced wickedly inside him.

I’m writing this for others to know the
truth, for surely it will be forgotten and swept clean like nothing
ever happened. I want them to know I didn’t try to murder my
father, nor my brother, but rather I was defending the king from
his crazed son, who later took his own life. I am the rightful
heir. That is why my brother went mad, mad with jealousy. My father
had gathered us to the Anvalin, the very heart of our grand city, a
place sacred to only its rulers and heirs. The king had decided the
power was to be mine, not my brother’s, he had chosen me, and
before his power could be passed down to me, the traitor tried to
plunge a dagger into his own father’s heart and then tried to kill
me. We struggled, but before I could stop him he flung himself from
the open window to his death below. I was overcome, wrought with
grief, as was the king. Not only was my brother dead, the boy with
whom I shared my mother’s womb, but the embodied link of the power
and pride of the Alainian rulers had been broken. Father was so
distraught. He had come close to madness with mother’s passing, but
this time he fell deeply into despair.

Word had come to us that my brother (I cannot
even bear to write his name) was influenced by a power-mad leader
of the common people. He had convinced him, like so many, that
there was no need for a king, that they should have the power of
the Anvalin. Such fools!

The king blinded their leader and banished
all that followed to live their lives subject to the cruelties of
the world. His wrath was so great he summoned the power of the
Anvalin and raised the city from its foundation into the very
clouds above, never to be touched by evil again.

This great feat of strength drained the king
of his own life force. When the city had finished its descent, he
left nothing but a withered body. He had died before passing the
power of our people done to me, the rightful king.

The power was lost. The only reminder of its
presence was the sacred Anvalin and its key, now rendered useless
because it had not been successfully passed down.

I fear this event will create an even greater
rift among the people of Alainia. There are some that would see my
head hang from the castle gate to pay for the city’s upheaval, and
yet there are those who are merciful, who know that that is not the
way of the Alain. I have already seen the riots from my hiding
place. It is only a matter of time before war breaks out inside
these walls.

Now, while the world’s gone crazy around me,
I wait here to die, hiding like a rat behind the wall. I can smell
the smoke and hear the angry screams from outside the door. At
least they will never find my body.

I only ask, to any that read this, if it’s
ever found, to please recover my poor father’s ring. It deserves to
reclaim its rightful place upon the finger of a true ruler.

Lestel felt his heart thud to a stop and
crawl up his throat.
No wonder there wasn’t anything here about
the past.
He couldn’t help but question how many other lies he
had been told to keep from inquiring about the actions of his
ancestors.

So many questions, so few answers.
He
flipped through the rest of the pages only to find nothing. The
only thing he knew was that he needed to find that ring. It was his
best chance to finding any clues to what had happened so many years
ago.

Let me see, let me see.

If the fire wasn’t what burned ye,

Then where can your safe place be?

It had to be part of the old library. At
least that was the best guess he had. Assuming, mind you, the fire
that destroyed the old library had been one in the same with the
fire set to draw the prince out. It was a risk he was willing to
take.

Lestel circled the room, prying at teetering
book shelves and prodding at the damp stone walls. Finding nothing
on the first level, he wandered on to the next. He climbed the
rickety ladder to the first catwalk above and repeated his
inspection. Still finding nothing, he then climbed up to the final
top level. He circled around, poking and nudging, still producing
nothing. Heaving sighs of exasperation, he propped himself up at a
lone round window and looked up at the night sky. The moon smiled
down at the world below, like a mother looking in on a sleeping
child. His eyes wandered for some spark of inspiration while
listening to the muffled thunder. Suddenly, Lestel noticed a small
adjoining room hanging from the library’s outer wall, barely ten
feet from where he stood. His head quickly shot inside to see,
maybe, if there had been a way in he had missed, but only saw
nothing but immovable stone wall. He popped his head outside again,
trying to figure out how to get inside. He could see a window on
the wall facing him, black and gaunt like a hungry, open mouth. A
narrow ledge bellow him tugged at his curious mind.

Maybe. Just maybe.
He knew it was a
crazy idea, but he was feeling unusually reckless from not sleeping
in so long.
Besides, it doesn’t look that far down. I’ve had
worse falls.

Lestel slithered his robed body out onto the
narrow ledge, his slippers sliding ever so slightly on the slick
stone surface. Inch by inch, he crept his way toward the window.
Sweat clung to his hair, matting it against his face. His limbs
twitched, dreading the solemn drop below him. He was nearly there
now, however no matter how much he strained his eyes he could still
see nothing inside. He crept closer and closer, realizing that this
may have not been the best of ideas. Barely a foot away from the
window, his foot slipped, sending his arms flailing in the crisp
night air. Panic ripped his heart from his chest as he tried his
best to lunge toward the window. His sweaty hands barely managed to
grasp the stone ledge. He could feel his feet dangling below him,
but thought better of it than to steal a look down. Straining his
arms from their unexpected load, he shimmied up and into the room,
powered by a final burst of adrenaline. He landed on the bare stone
floor with a muffled
thump
.

Lestel reveled in his silent victory, panting
away the anxiety from the most terrifying moment of his life. He
finally managed to stand upright on his shaky limbs, praying that
he didn’t have to exit the same way.

His eyes took a moment to adjust. The
moonlight streamed in from behind him, illuminated what appeared to
be a bare room, with only a small desk littered with blank
parchment and a large shadowy chair pulled up behind it. He edged
closer, examining any contents beneath the parchment when his hand
suddenly brushed something foreign to the faded pages. It was cool
and metal, perhaps a ring. He tried to pick it up for a better
look, but it was attached to something heavy and clattering.

He dropped it immediately upon the
realization of what he was holding, or better yet,
who
. The
smell of disturbed decay struck him immediately.

Lestel moved his body out of the way of the
lingering moonlight, revealing a twisted skeleton with leathery
flesh clinging to its face with stringy bits of hair swaying gently
in the breeze.
I’ve found him,
thought Lestel as his breath
caught in his throat in a mixture of despair for the poor prince
and awe. His curiosity had finally led him to something more
remarkable than he could have ever dreamed.

The ring!

He pulled himself from his thoughts and
searched the corpse’s withered fingers. There, in its shriveled
grasp, was a black metal ring. It winked in the moonlight against
the pale rotting skin. With his breath held, Lestel wriggled the
ring free.

The moonlight faded, replaced by clouds of
muffled thunder.

The ring was quite a beautiful piece of
metalwork. It was wide and square,
far too big for my queen
,
Lestel thought while sliding it onto his own finger.

A shrill hiss pierced the silence of the
room.

Finally, I am free. Your will is mine!

Lestel’s body crashed into the floor, his
limbs quaking and fighting against an unseen force. His body went
rigid and cold like a corpse before being smothered in shadow.

He gave in to the darkness.

***

“Mama, wake up. Mama!” Astrid’s little hands
clutched at her mother’s exposed arm, shaking it until she finally
woke.

“Astrid, darling, what’s wrong?” The queen
rolled over to face her frightened daughter, her eyes still blurry
with exhaustion.

“I had a nightmare, Mama. And the lightning’s
scary! It looked like monsters were coming to get me.”

“So you ran away and left your sister all
alone to defend herself against these monsters?”

Astrid soured her expression at the mention
of her twin sister, Anya. “Ah, they can have her.”

“Darling, don’t say such things. She’s your
sister. Do you know how much I wish I had a sister growing up, let
alone a twin? To always have someone there for you your own age, to
play with and to love?”

She reached down and lifted her daughter up
into her arms. An abrupt flash of lightening made Astrid hide her
face in her mother’s soft, golden hair.

“Mama, the lightening’s come to take me
away!”

“There, there, no one’s ever going to take
you away from me. Not ever.” Evanna gazed at her with warm, smiling
eyes. “Let me tell you a story, my love. That will make everything
better, you’ll see.”

“Once there was a fair kingdom, with a people
just as fair. They lived in peace and loved everything that drew
breath. However one night a fierce storm came, and in that storm
was a mighty army of strange creatures no one had ever seen before.
The people were quite frightened, and did not know what to do, so
they turned to their leader, a wise, kind-eyed old king. He knew
there was no way his people would survive an attack from such
fearsome creatures, so he did a most remarkable thing. He raised
the city into the sky, high above out of the grasp of the evils on
the earth below. Do you know of what city I speak, my love?”

“Alainia! It’s here!” Astrid glowed from her
mother’s approving nod.

“Indeed it is. And it has been safely
dwelling in the sky ever since, and always will be.”

Astrid stifled a yawn, her little nose
crinkling like a rabbit’s, and nuzzled closer to her mother’s
warmth.